


a funny story

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Fun, Lies, Male Character of Color, Norman has a weird sense of humor, Pre-Canon, how DID norman get there?, its norman, oh hey i forgot henry is latino, surprisingly no period-typical racism, the answer might surprise you!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: "Ain't life fucked up sometimes."How Norman got his job at Joey Drew Studios.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	a funny story

Funny thing, how he got the job.

He saw a flyer.

Just that.

A flyer.

Stuck on a wall.

Somebody looking for a projectionist for some sort of movie studio.

Pretty good pay.

He walked back home thinking about it.

The day after he made Jolene breakfast, kissed her dark cheek goodbye before she went out (she complained about his scratchy beard and mustache combo with a laugh), put on a jacket that could have been considered formal enough for a handyman, and walked to the studio with his hands in his pockets.

The guy who’d taken him to the boss’ office was white, with an annoyed face. He’d looked at him up and down with those clear eyes of his and those dark slicked back hair. He recognized him as the one guy who’d direct the little band a few blocks down. He’d done some light work there, they knew each other by sight. Not that bad a man.

He took out the flyer. The guy gave it a glance - probably recognized it.

“Ah,” the guy said, “Here for the place?”

“Yes.” he replied.

A hallway was pointed to him: “That way for his office.”

“Thanks.”

“Didn’t know you were a projectionist.”

“Hm.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” he said, and that was all.

The man in charge was also white. Painfully white. To be truthful, he was kind of worryingly white by how pale he was. He was pretty sure that no matter how light the skin, a healthy person wouldn’t just look like they’d just come out of a silver screen film. He also had a cut on his right eyebrow, towards the nose.

The man looked at him entering with his wide grey eyes and a surprised look on his face.

“Good morning.” the man said.

“Good morning.” he replied.

The man waited a second or two, shuffling some papers with crude drawings and writings on them in his hands without breaking eye contact. He then proceeded: “May I help you?”

“I saw the flyer.” he explained, and that was all.

The grey eyes squinted, then widened again with a smile divided right in the middle by a gap: “Ah!” the man said, standing up with a bit of a struggle and extending his hand, “For the projectionist place, yes? Pleased to meet you! Very pleased, actually, you’re just in time, we’re in a pickle right now with one of them, Mister…?”

“Polk.”

“Polk! And your name?”

“Norman.”

“Norman Polk! Has a good ring to it.”

“Thanks, mister…”

“Drew. Joseph, or Joey, either’s fine. Follow me, please, it’s down the hall… I’m sorry if I come off as rude, you don’t have to answer, but were you born with different eyes?”

“No.”

“So one of them is-?”

“Blind.”

“Ah. Well, you must have double the skill for the job then! At least, I guess. Eyes are pretty important when handling projectors, right?”

“Yes.” he guessed as well, having never touched a projector before.

The new room was no bigger than the office, and had a projector set up on a small table. Next to it was a fat man, shorter but much darker than Joey or the first guy. A long scar trailed above his pudgy nose. He smiled as the two of them came in with the face of one who has no cares in the world nor thoughts in his head.

“Still broken?” Joey asked kind of stupidly.

“Still broken.” the tanned man nodded, making his brown ponytail fall off his shoulder. He turned to Norman with the same half-open eyes: “Who’s that?”

“Our projectionist!”

“Just in time.”

“Mr. Polk, Henry, Henry, Norman Polk.”

“Good morning.” Henry smiled.

“Good morning.” he replied, and that was all.

He looked at the machine, tilting his head so that his good eye could try to find the problem on the surface, and then he got to work with barely any idea on what to do to that thing. All he knew was that it was something that had to do with electricity, that it needed fixing, and that he was an electrician, and a damn good one too; he would have figured it out from there.

And the funniest thing in this whole ordeal was that he pulled and checked, and shifted things, and took out stuff to change it with other stuff, and then closed it all off, took a reel to try it out, and the projector worked.

It worked delightfully fine.

“Huh.” he said.

He didn’t think they’d hire him so quickly. It made sense when he noticed none of the people already there knew how to mantain the damned projectors. All the better: he got to practice.

A chuckle escaped him.

“What’s so funny, Mr. Polk?”

“I’m not even a projectionist.” he cackled.

Buddy furrowed his eyebrows.

“But… You are?”

Norman smiled wider, making a web of wrinkles deepen in his dark cheeks.

“Exactly.”

The junior animator looked at him like he’d just picked a cockroach, dipped it in a patch of rotten mold and acetone stains and slammed it in his mouth like a chip.

“Ain’t life fucked up sometimes.” Norman said, and that was all.


End file.
